Far Away, Long Ago
by LunarFlare14
Summary: Five years after Arthur's death the rumors persist- the prince is still alive. Arron arrives in Albion, the kingdom without a king, hoping it holds the key to his past. SLASH Season3Spoilers Not AU Search terms: merlin/arthur merthur arlin
1. Chapter 1

Arron sat with his ship mates as the storm raged on outside. It had been two months since he had joined the crew and storms still had him on edge. They were telling stories of the jungle where they'd grown up, and the fantastic beasts that roamed there. They did this every evening; tonight's story was about the Impundulu, an impossible bird of lightning and thirst for blood. They spoke so often of magic because they knew it made him uneasy. The crew didn't like newcomers and couldn't wait to reach Albion to dump him.

Faraj was the closest thing he had to a friend on the ship, a kind older man of a deep tan complexion and quiet strength. Over his travels, Arron had met many people but meeting Faraj had felt like destiny. He met him on the streets of a dessert city, he told tales of a place that had outlawed magic years before and had since lifted the ban. He didn't know much more, only that there was a ship setting sail for it out of the harbor and that it was said to be the native land of dragons. At the mention of dragons, Arron had tensed. Unsure why, he knew he had to go. That unease always seemed to mean that he was getting closer to answers.

"Arron, are we boring you with our story tonight?" Asked Gwala. He was a cynical man; he liked to pick fights with Arron. His only explanation for why was that Arron made him uneasy.

"I'm just thinking about Albion."

"That's right. You've never been." He smirked at the others. "You know the thing about Albion? It use to be little more than a city, ruled over by the Pendragon line."

Faraj, who was sitting next to Arron rolled his eyes, "Not this again."

"What?" Arron had never heard this.

Faraj waved his hand in dismissal, "An old wife's tale. Meant to send the kiddies to sleep at night."

Gwala laughed, "Pendragon was cocky- going to war against all of magic. A large group of mercenaries- the Traijans- were hired by a witch to attack the coast and bring the Pendragon out of his fortress."

"Traijans?" Arron asked, leaning in.

"Aye, boy. They were once from the same land as my people, but many years ago they left in search for wealth and power. When they heard of the price they were in. The King had a son, Arthur. He was a brave soul of incredible skill and strength. He led the troops onto the shore on a storm filled evening- just like this one- when suddenly BAM!" Gwala smacked the table. "Chaos. The Traijans had been hiding behind a powerful invisibility spell. The Prince was captured and dragged onto one of the enemy's ships… That's when things got scary. No one knows how, but all the Traijans on the shore vanished, turned to dust and dissolved, mixing with the sand. The ships sunk into the ocean as if they were taken out as if by God himself. No one on board survived."

"What happened to Pendragon's forces?"

Gwala laughed, "All the ones still alive were untouched. Some say it was magic. No one but the King and his knights knows for sure. None will say. But there is a lot of talk as to who it was."

"What happened after that?"

"The King mourned heavily for four days. On the fifth day, his ward- and the only heir left to the throne- tried to claim his life and kingdom."

Arron leaned closer, "Did he succeed?"

"She. The ward was the witch who hired the Traijans. She did not kill the King and fled the city."

"And the King?"

Gwala shrugged, "Sought a new heir. He found one too. A young man of the Ambrosius line that had long since died out in the male side and he was almost a too convenient find, the only problem was he was a sorcerer."

Arron gawked at him, "And the King allowed it?"

"He had no other choice. He was old, dying of a broken heart. They say he was tired of the bloodshed. After losing all he had held dear, he saw the madness everyone else had seen in himself. With the help of his new ward, he made peace with the people of magic in his land. Soon after that he died."

"What happened to the Ambrosius?"

"He's ruling now as Steward. The people love him, the knights love him. He has not only brought peace but prosperity to the land. He united the entire isle and calls it Albion… But there are still the whispers." Arron didn't interrupt this time. "It's said the Steward was the one who destroyed the Traijan force that day when he realized they had taken the prince- that the Steward was a mere servant. They say the king lied because he would rather resurrect a dead line then admit the truth- that the Steward is a Dragonlord." Gwala laughed a bit. "It's like the entire city of Camelot knows this big secret and no one is willing to tell it. But they know. The only one who might have been willing to say was the witch and the Steward's first order as ruler was to have her tracked down and locked beneath the castle."

Faraj sighed. "And what of the rumors?" Arron looked to his friend who shook his head, grinning. "This is Gwala's favorite part."

"The rumors! They pour out of the city like water over a cliff. The prince's body was never found."

"Never found! It was probably eaten by sharks." Faraj scoffed.

"But what if it wasn't? There are some who say the prince still walks this earth."

Arron's eyes went wide, "Surely if he were alive he would have made it back to his kingdom by now."

Gwala sighed. "No one knows. But if the Steward didn't believe the rumors, why not just call himself king?"

Faraj's face went grave. Graver then he'd ever seen it. "Because the prince was his friend."

Gwala laughed, "Yea right. He's probably just afraid that the prince will come back and have him beheaded or something." He sighed, picking up his mead glass and raising it towards Arron. "This is the most you've probably said of anything since you've come on board."

Arron blinked, surprised. "I was just… Curious."

Gwala shrugged setting down his mead and standing. "The captain says we arrive in Port Balinor in the morning. Better get some shut eye."

Faraj patted Arron on the shoulder as his ship mates all turned in for the night. Arron was wide awake. Once they were all asleep Arron pulled out a torn piece of cloth from his pocket: A gold dragon patched onto a piece of tattered red cloth. Albion- the home of the dragons. He felt the material between his fingers and closed his eyes, hoping beyond all hope he was finally heading in the right direction.

Maybe Albion the home he had search for all these years.


	2. Chapter 2

Arron walked down the plank of the ship to the dock, looking up at the towering cliff which Port Balinor was built upon. Faraj stood next to him, grinning. "According to the captain, this place is new but thriving and growing. It's still only half the size of the capital. Under the Steward's reign, magic has been allowed once more. Half the population of Albion has come out of hiding and the land prospered." They began to walk up the side of the cliff. Faraj watched with wonder. "I suppose none of this would be familiar to you?"

Arron shook his head. "No, the Steward began ruling five years ago. This place would have just been cliffs back then."

"Are you sure Albion is 'It' for you?"

Arron stopped walking, looking around the street. It was so different than anywhere he had ever been. Alive, vibrant, happy. It was cool, with a warm ocean breeze. He could get use to that. "I am. I grow tired of travelling. Even if this isn't the place I was born. Does it matter? A home is made, not found."

Faraj shook his head. "Sometimes, you are wise beyond measure, my friend." He held out his hand and Arron shook it. "I hope you find what you're looking for in the Land of the Dragon."

"Thank you." Arron continued up the road. Merchants and dealers tried to sell him things: from remedies for hair lose to good luck charms. It was different than what Arron was use to but he could not linger. He was headed for Camelot.

Five years. He had wandered pretty far to find this place. He just wanted a history to cling to at this point.

All he remembered was that he had awoken in a soft bed in a caravan. They said he was been found on the bank of a river across the sea, his feet bloody from walking upstream. It was a band of traveling merchants headed for the desert lands. He had nothing but the clothes on his back and the bit of cloth he had in his pocket. The street curved into the cliff, and he entered a tunnel lit with torches that didn't let off smoke. There were shops lining the walls. He had just passed a bakery when suddenly a man was thrown into the street from the next shop over.

"And stay out!" The person who'd thrown him slammed the door.

"Are you alright?" Arron rushed forward and kneeled next to the man.

The stranger's long brown hair was a bit matted as he flipped it out of his face. He had the beginnings of a beard and smelled heavily of ale. "I'm fine. Thank you for your concern."

"Had too much, have you?"

"Aye." The man finally looked him in the face, and his eyes squinted in the light. "Have we met before?"

"No sir. Well, not that I know of. I'm Arron" The man leaned in, looking at him closely. "Do you need help home?"

"If you would, friend. I live at the top of the cliff. It's a big house, can't miss it."

Arron threw the stranger's arm around his shoulder and began the climb. It wasn't too far but at one point the walk way turned to steps, and the weight of the man was a bit difficult to support. When they reached the top, a large manor loomed over them. "This is it."

"There you are!" A voice yelled from the inside of the gates. The man cringed as a large muscular man in armor came into view. "Some Baron you've turned out to be! Drinking yourself stupid in the middle of the day."

"Good afternoon to you too."

"Gwaine, you were supposed to be back an hour ago." The armored man eyed Arron, and then squinted a bit. "Who's you're friend?"

"Arron. Help me out here, Percival. Who's he look like?"

"What d'you mean?" Percival came forward inspecting his face. Arron let him, despite his discomfort. Percival's eyes went wide. "He looks just like... Well not just like but near enough."

"It's, like, on the edge of my thoughts-"

"The Prince."

Gwaine stared at Arron for a moment. Realization dawned on his face and his grip on Arron's shoulder suddenly went slack as he fell to the ground. "No."

"Yes."

Arron helped Gwaine back up, "Well, hold on now. How do I look like your prince?"

"The eyes mostly. You look a hell of a lot older than him, but that might be the hair."

"Gwaine, he can't be the Prince. The Prince is dead."

"You don't know that for certain."

Arron frowned. "I said I-"

"Tell him, Arron. You ain't the Prince. Tell him who you are."

Arron didn't say anything. The other two men waited.

"What's wrong?"

"I... I don't know who I am. I was found a few years ago on the side of a river in the Land of Dying Grass. I don't remember anything before that."

It was true. He had come here to find out who he was. But a Prince?

Gwaine looked solemnly at Percival, "Emrys will know."

Percival flinched, "You know how he gets when you mention Arthur."

"It's worth a try. Didn't he put a reward out for information on Arthur?"

Percival's face dawned with understanding. "You want to pay off your debt by bringing in this guy and claiming he is the Prince?"

"Maybe."

"You're insane."

"The Steward is mad at me because I owe him so much money for bailing me out of trouble all the time. If this guy is Arthur- Really Arthur! Maybe he'll forgive me."

Arron held up his hands, "I'm no prince. I don't remember the old me but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be too different then I am right now."

Percival looked at him. "You're a brave sort."

Gwaine looked at Percival, "Wandering across strange lands all alone." He looked at Arron. "You any good with a sword?"

"The best."

Percival nodded. "You get close to people when you get to know them?"

"I've had friends I would gladly die for."

The two men looked at each other again, then Arron. Gwaine patted Percival's shoulder and smirked as he stumbled up to the house. "Make ready the horses!"

Percival laughed nervously. "He means well."

"How did he get to be a Baron?"

"He wasn't always like this; I mean he drank but only in good fun. After what happened to the Prince… He started to gamble. Spent a lot of the Steward's money- money that was supposed to go towards feeding the horses. The drinking only got worse once him and Emrys were on the outs."

"Why?"

"Blames himself for the prince's dea-" Percival stopped and looked at him, filled with awe. "I swear you're just like him. The more I look the more I see. You sure you don't remember anything?"

Arron shook his head. "No. But that only means I have nothing to lose in all this."

"That's the same for all of us."

"Why are you out here?"

Percival scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Somebody has to take care of him."

Arron nodded, looking out over the sea. "I'll go with you."


	3. Chapter 3

_There was nothing. No sound, no air, no light. It was dark and treacherous, far away from all hope. It threw him about as if he were nothing, nothing but a ragdoll in the waves. He opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out were bubbles, trying to fill his lungs with water. He was heavy, so heavy. He couldn't move his arms to swim or kick his feet to paddle. He was helpless to the churning around him. The sea had other plans. Slowly, he lost his strength, and only had his thoughts. _

_The endless dark made him feel small. He chose to sink and as he did the toss and turn faded and there was calm he didn't expect in the depths. He floated downward endlessly and he waited for death to take him. _

_There was so much left for him to do. He had a destiny. One that couldn't be realized if it ended now. What would become of those he left behind? Those whom he had treasured? In his mind, a pair of eyes flashed and he was filled with regret. Still so much life to led, and yet he was out of time. He knew it was impossible, what he wished, but for once he wished he could have been someone else. Someone with courage and love in his heart. He was so tired, sleep creeping into him. Maybe those eyes would be there when he awoke, smiling at him as they always did. Longing filled his heart and he fell back into the abyss. After which there wasn't even darkness._

Morgana awoke with a start. It had been that dream again. She'd been having the same dream, over and over and over again. Every night she closed her eyes and saw the darkness, felt the waves, sunk deeper into the ocean and was consumed by the deep.

Every night for five years.

She sat up, looking around her prison. It was actually quite comfortable. There was a bed, though not a large one, and a desk with a cushioned stool. A torch of magical light, not fire, illuminated the cavern during the day, mimicking the sun. Based on the brightness of it, it was morning. Scroll upon scroll littered the rest of the space. With nothing but her visions, she had taken to writing them down. This time though, the dream was different, whoever had sunk into the sea had not been her. Maybe it was never her, and she was only just realizing now. She was certain this time the eyes through which she saw had been that of a man.

"Could it be…?"

Steps echoing from the passage leading to the castle interrupted her thoughts.

Emrys, the Steward of Albion emerged, dressed in his usual deep blue robes. The golden dragon scale around his neck glowed in the light of the flameless torch. His brow was set in a stern frown, as if looking upon her pierced his heart with the force of a spear. He was handsome once, but now he was a cold looking character, still tall and lean as always. His ice blue eyes burrowed into her with both pity and distaste. His hair was much longer now, and his beard was even more scraggly. Dark rings under his eyes revealed his sleepless nights. Frown lines were forming and she wonder when the last time he smiled was. The thought would have surprised her if she were still capable of a smile. She crinkled her nose at the thought of him ruling. The thought of her people paying homage to a false leader, who was not even bold enough to declare himself king. It made her want to spit the ground between them.

"Good morning, Emrys." She spat, approaching the barrier that held her in such confines. Only the wizard before her could pass through it. He placed a plate of food on the desk and picked up her most recent and unfinished scroll.

"Anything of interest this week?"

"No."

Emrys inspected her writing. She hated that he read them. Her visions were hers, and she did not want him prying. "No drowning dreams then?"

"Of course there was." Anger turned her words to ice. He met her eyes with equal fire and he shook his head. She would not mention that she was not the one to drown.

"You didn't write it down. That is unlike you."

"It was the only dream I had, if I had had another vision with it perhaps. But just the ocean and the eyes… No, it wasn't worth the parchment." The lie was easy. Natural.

She never understood why she continued to deceive, even when she had nothing to gain.

Emrys sighed, looking over the scroll once more. So many things ran through her mind to say, so many things to cut deeper into old wounds. But nothing came. She had said it all before. It was pointless now, except for hurting Emrys. It had stopped making her feel better long ago. Now she just suffered more.

"It didn't have to be this way, Morgana." She began to say it was destiny; they were born enemies, and pretending they were anything else was going against the plan fate had in store. But she found the words stopped in her throat. She was so tired of the charade; the fighting, the name calling, all of it. All she wanted was to be left in peace. Let the world forget about her and she would drift under the surface. "No retort?"

"Leave me be." She sighed. They had been on the same side once. But he chose the wrong one when the line was drawn.

"No declarations of disgust and rants about betrayal?"

"No. Even caged here, without my crown or my sister, I suppose I got what I sought. You are a miserable wretch." She knew he flinched without having to look at him, though she hadn't meant for her words to cut so deeply this time. She drew no pleasure from it, only more pain. All she had was pain. "Thinking back… He was my brother too."

"Don't pretend you understand how I feel!" Emrys yelled, throwing the scroll to the ground. "You could never understand." He whispered, departing with a flourish of his cloak. Morgana laid back down and turned to face away from the Steward's retreating form. Her eyes drifted shut and she hoped to be carried away once more by the waves. She hoped they would wash away all her regrets. She hoped all the water in the sea would be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Arron and the knights reached Camelot three days after departing from Fort Balinor. They had stopped twice for food and sleep once in their journey. Gwaine was in quite a hurry. Neither knight answered his questions, and he had many questions.

What was the prince like? What did he like to do? Did he have any living relatives? If he was the prince, would he have to take the throne? He didn't know how to run a country.

Halfway there he realized it was silly to keep asking. At their second stop Percival pulled him aside. "Look, the less we tell you the better. First, we get to Emrys, then we'll answer whatever questions you've got. Alright?"

Arron nodded as Gwaine rejoined them, holding a bushel of berries in triumph. Now, the gates of Camelot came into few and Gwaine hurried to them. They were tall stone doors with two dragons carved into them. They stood as tall as a tree and Arron couldn't help but stare. Two guards stood in their path.

The guard on the left growled, "Baron."

"I demand audience with the Steward."

The guard on the right sighed, "So be it. But he will not like it. He is in a mood."

Gwaine grinned down at him. "It is about to get a lot worse." With that they trotted through the gates. The city was huge, probably able to contain ten thousand people. The outer reach of the city was built around and through a forest. It appeared to be that few trees were actually felled in the expansion. It was probably due to the fact that most of the population of that area appeared to be druids, a people he had heard only rumors of while abroad.

"This is Camelot?" He asked in awe as they made their way through the streets.

Percival laughed, "A part of it. This is Isafcoad, the outer holds of the city. The forest here was not a part of the city until-"

"Until the Steward's reign. Yes, yes I get it." Arron sighed. How was he supposed to remember if so much had changed? In an hour or so the woods opened up into farmland, fertile grains danced in the breeze and Arron stopped to stare at it for a moment. "Farmland, right in the middle of the city?"

"These farms were always here. Look beyond them." Gwaine pointed. Arron looked and was a city more developed and then he had ever seen. Somehow at the middle stood a castle above the rest. "Emrys raised the land into a hill with his magic, so the castle would still be at the tallest most foreboding of the buildings… Even though it wasn't really. He has changed everything but the castle."

Arron gapped in wonder as they road, approaching another set of gates. The guards didn't even ask as the strolled in. The streets were alive with shops and shoppers all buying and trading and selling, it was the most invigorating thing to see. So much life flowed from the place he could not help but smile with glee. He had thought the Port was busy.

Another hour and they were through the streets to a more upscale part of the city, large manor homes lined the way as they approached the castle. A much older wall surround it and the entered a court yard. Three young boys hurried forward and took their horses once they were off of them. Gwaine looked to Percival and they had what appeared to be a silent conversation. It ended with Percival putting his hand on Gwaine's shoulder.

"Alright." Gwaine stood firm and ascended the steps, opening the large doors of the castle and leading them through the hallway. The entered a large open room, at the end of which stood a throne. "I wish to address the Steward, Lord Emrys, on a matter of urgent importance." The words echoed off the chamber walls and several people who had been standing around looked to the party. They saw Gwaine and all hurried off in different directions. This left them, and a man sitting upon the throne.

The man was tall and thin, lines on his face were not deep enough for him to be too much older than Arron. His robes were the same blue and silver of the banners hanging in the hall, the outline of a dragons head from the front as a symbol. The man stood, impatience flashing in his storm blue eyes but it didn't last as it quickly faded into weariness. The Steward was obviously deprived of sleep. With all he had accomplished in the five years since he began, Arron couldn't imagine having the time to sleep either. Despite all that he was quite fetching. There was something about him… Something Arron couldn't quite put his finger on.

"My friend. I come with… Interesting news."

"If it is anything but you repaying your debt to me, I do not wish to hear it."

"Emrys, please. Look at my companion. He is a man with no past washed up on the shores of a foreign land." Gwaine grabbed Arron's arm and pushed him forward. He stumbled, catching himself before he went too far. Arron blushed a bit, smiling sheepishly. The smile faltered when he met the Steward's eyes. The stern, haunted man before him looked as if he faced a ghost, not a mere mortal. Emrys stood, hurrying down the few steps and closing the distance between them so that he was only a foot or so from him. He searched every inch of Arron's face, a look of disbelief growing in his eyes.

"You… You are an impossible thing." He whispered and Arron blushed a bit under his gaze.

"Do you see why I brought him, Emrys? Is he not troubling?"

The Steward nodded, looking Arron in the eyes once more. The searching stopped and he looked to be bracing himself. "You do not know me then?"

Arron winced, "No, my lord."

The Steward didn't flinch outwardly, but Arron could almost see in his eyes that he might as well have stabbed him. "He even sounds…" He looked past Arron to Percival, "Nothing?"

"He is very similar. But he has no knowledge of his life before five years ago."

The Steward looked back to him. "Convenient."

Arron laughed a little, "Not really. I am told I look like your prince, but honestly, even if I am not, I would like to make a home in Albion. I am tired of wandering."

"The resemblance is… Unnerving. But it is not just looking like the prince, it is being him. If there is anything I have learned these past five years it is that the eyes can deceive you."

"I know of no way through which I could prove to be him without a doubt."

The Steward turned walking back to his throne. "You will remain here until just after Samhain. If you can recall anything that only the prince would know by then you may go ahead with the trial. If you cannot…" The Steward looked over his shoulder, a firm look darkening his eyes, "Then I will have to assume that you are an imposter and I will feed you to my dragon. That is the deal I give you." The Steward turned once more, his jaw set.

Somehow, Arron could see all the disappointments of the past Emrys hid. This was not the first claim that had been made. He didn't actually think that the Steward would feed him to a dragon but…

Arron stood a bit straighter. This was a test. Arron would pass it.

"I accept your terms."

"Good, I will make sure a room is prepared for each of you. Emma!" The Steward called, his tone of voice changing dramatically. A young girl, not twelve summers of age entered, looking frightened. She had red hair and deep hazel eyes, "Go tell the Lady to have the servants prepare the guest chambers." She nodded and quickly departed. "I have important business to attend to. Emma will take you to your rooms once they are ready."

Gwaine and Percival came forward standing at either side of Arron. Gwaine frowned, "Emrys-"

"It is alright, Gwaine. I thank you for being so swift in your response to this… Event. I am grateful. Perhaps… I was too hasty when we argued."

Gwaine's face lit up and he stepped forward, hugging the Steward for a moment causing his eyes to go wide in surprise. "I was a fool. I have some of the money but-"

"I don't care about the money. Money is easy to come by, a dear friend is not. You are here now. Enjoy your stay." With that the Steward left them.

Percival laughed, "That went well."

Arron's shoulders slumped forward, "Now I had better be the prince. I have only a couple of months to remember."

"Then we had best get started." Percival clapped him on the back and he winced in pain.


	5. Chapter 5

"Does he have any family?" Arron asked, looking around the large throne room.

Gwaine shrugged, "Just the crazy half sister locked up in the basement… At least that's all the family I am aware of. Mother died in child birth, father died a couple years back."

"Were you two and him close?"

Percival shook his head, "Not me. I had just arrived pretty much. We were becoming fast friends. Gwaine was closer to him than me."

Gwaine nodded, "Always trying to one up me. Probably thought I was after his sweetheart."

"He had a sweetheart?"

Percival elbowed Gwaine who continued apologetically. "Him and a servant- Guinevere- had a blossoming romance. She has since… Moved on. Married a knight named Lancelot."

Arron winced, "Maybe it is a good thing I was told that now." A sweetheart… He had expected that of a prince. But a servant? That was unheard of.

Emma returned with a deep curtsey, interrupting his thoughts, "My Lords. The Steward extends his invitation to you three to share dinner with him in the dining room this evening, if it is convenient."

Gwaine nodded, "We shall."

"Then I shall take you to your rooms. If you would follow me, the Lady of the castle has made sure they are prepared."

"The Steward has a Stewardess?" Arron asked the knights.

"No, the lady is Guinevere… The wife of the Steward's champion. He never wedded." Percival chimed as they took pace with the young girl towards the door. "She takes care of the household in the stead of a Stewardess."

"Was the prince a good man?" Arron asked as they left the throne room.

Gwaine smiled, "For a noble."

"Was the Prince well liked?"

Percival laughed, "By most. But I only knew him towards the end. I heard he could be quite the prat."

Arron's brow furrowed, "Well hold on there-"

Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder as they rounded a corner. Emma was hard to keep up with for someone so small. "No one is saying you are a prat. The prince was getting better about it. Starting to think for himself and not let his father's old grudges hold him back."

Percival and Gwaine looked at each other, their expressions seemingly blank but there were signs of a silent conversation. Emma pushed open a door and motioned for Percival to enter. He left them and Gwaine and Arron continued. The next door on the hallway Emma opened and motioned for Gwaine to enter. The knight laughed, "Guess the Steward wants Percival to keep a close eye on me. Joined rooms." Gwaine came back to the door and shook his head, "Perhaps you should take these questions out of the third person."

Arron shook his head, "It is still too odd. Maybe, if I started to remember I would-"

Emma cleared her throat, "Sire?"

Gwaine nodded at her then smiled at Arron. "See you at dinner."

Arron extended his hand and Gwaine shook it. "See you then."

Arron followed Emma to his room. She stopped and opened a wooden door, stepping back so he could follow her in. The site stopped him flat. A four-post bed with a red curtain sat as the centerpiece of the room, with a desk off to the side. A screen for dressing stood in a corner and he had two side tables by his beds.

"Your room, sire."

He wandered in as if in a dream. "This was the prince's room?" He asked, knowing it had been. She nodded, confirming his suspicions. "It is more than agreeable." He took the curtain between his fingers, material of the highest quality. This may have been the first time he felt truly at peace since he could remember. "I am feeling a bit light headed. Could you tell the Steward-?… I must decline his invitation for dinner? I wish to turn in early."

"I will let him know, sire."

"Emma?"

"Yes, sire?"

Arron fiddled with the tie holding the curtains back, "Did you know the prince?"

She smiled, "I remember bits and pieces. My mother worked in the kitchen and I would put the trays together for his manservant to take to his rooms in the morning. He always left one sweet roll uneaten when he sent it back to the kitchen. I was allowed to have it."

"The Steward? He was his servant, wasn't he?"

The girl paled, "We aren't supposed to talk about it. When we do it, it starts to become fuzzy."

Arron turned to her, curious. "Fuzzy?"

"Aye. I don't remember Emrys from then very clearly."

Arron nodded, though he didn't understand. "Thank you again, Em. Please let the lady know I appreciate how well she has put together the room. It is very comfortable."

"I will tell her… And sire?"

"Yes?"

"The prince? He was one of the few people to call me Em… Good night, sire. Ring if you need anything."

The young girl curtseyed and left him.

Arron stood there, for a moment puzzled into stillness. Then he smiled a little and began to explore his quarters. There was something about it that he couldn't place. He stripped off his gear, and threw his pack in a corner, letting his garments land where they may. He opened the wardrobe and looked over the clothes within it. One item after another, he found none that he did not like. He grabbed a pair of simple breaches and climbed under the covers. It was the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in, like it was made for him. It was not long before he drifted off to sleep.

_He laid on a beach he had never been too before, fully encased in armor made heavy by water trapped within it. He coughed up salt water, looking around. There was the taste of blood in his mouth. Sitting up, he began to shed the equipment. He started with the tattered cape, keeping only the dragon patch. He took off the bracers. Throwing them aside, he removed the chest piece, then with difficulty the chainmail underneath. His head swam and he laid back down, now much lighter than before. He breathed in the salt air a few moments. He had been doing something? Fighting? It was all going fuzzy. Gulls called over head and he knew he had to move. Wobbling to his feet, he began his trek. _

_His vision blurred, and he stumbled. Taking off his boots in his hazy state, he began again. Wandering aimlessly he found a river. A river could lead to a town and a town… A town might just get him home._

_But there were none. _

_He just kept going and kept walking, on and on. Blood trailed down his temple and he realized he'd been hurt. When? He could not remember. He collapsed on the ground. Eyes flashed across his mind's eyes, and he sighed into the dust as consciousness slowly left him, like drifting to the bottom of a well._


	6. Chapter 6

Emrys stood outside his latest guest's door for at least an hour, eyeing the handle as if it would move on its own if he stared it down. His guest had so unceremoniously declined his invite to dinner, claiming he was suddenly too tired and in need of rest. Though Gwaine and Percival had made the same claims it was still rather rude, and having already given them a firm talking to it was time for Arron to face the music. A near complete stranger, taking up quarters under his roof but not even having the manners to show up to dinner? It was unheard of and uncalled for and… perhaps he just wanted an excuse to see again and make sure it was not some spell he was under.

He really did look like Arthur.

He reached for the handle and swung the door open, marching inside. Instead of making the fuss about not coming to dinner as requested of him, Emrys stopped in his tracks to stare at the new comer who laid asleep on the bed. How many times had he been fooled? Eight? Nine? No this was the eleventh. Ten times before he had gotten his hopes lifted from the dust and ten times they had been dashed. He wanted this time to be different more than any other time before.

He didn't know if his heart could take much more.

"Cannot sleep, Emrys?" came a silky female voice from behind him. He didn't even jump anymore when she did that…. At least not very much. Tethalla was the type to come and go as she pleased. Always in the same green dress, with sleeves more like a thin layer of dew then fabric, billowing to her elbows.

"You do not fear waking him?"

"No, he has not slept so well in many a moon. He will not be disturbed by us." She wandered over to the window, standing in the light of the sunset. It illuminated her face; her beauty of unnatural splendor to those who beheld it, served as an eerie reminder that she was more than she seemed. The wind caught her golden hair in wisps like mist on a lake at dawn. Emrys always wondered if he dreamed her into existence, out of loss and doubt. It would explain how out of place she was in the world. "It has begun, my old friend."

"What?"

"Time tells all its secrets when it chooses."

"Then he is-?" He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"That has yet to be revealed to me. But there is a change in the air, a storm moving along the horizon and casting shadows on this peaceful time." She turned to Arron's sleeping form and went to stand beside the bed, "So full of light. Whether he is the prince or a pauper, this fact cannot be denied."

"What would you have me do?"

She smiled, glowing in the fading light. "What I always have you do, follow your heart. It knows the way, all you have to do is let it lead."

"But my heart has grown weary; even it doesn't know where to go."

She came over to him. Moving out of the light she still managed to continue to shine as if she was lit from within. "I know you still mourn the passing of your mentor, but it was his time. I had known him all his life. It seems unfair you should know him for such a short time." She took Merlin's hand and squeezed it gently. "I will continue the work he left undone: helping you realize that you are worthy of the future destiny has in store."

With that, she was gone.

Emrys gave Arron one last look of longing before exiting the chamber.

Suddenly he had a thought that boiled his blood. The future. He descended the stairs to the dungeon and burst into the large underground chamber. "Morgana!"

She started, having been reading a book on her bed. "Emrys?"

"Why did you not right down the dream? Tell me now. I want the truth."

"What?"

"The drowning dream. You did not write it the last two days. You had that dream nearly every night for four years and now you are free of it? That seems unlikely. Now tell me why."

She bit her lip and he knew she had held something from him. From the red mark she left when she released it, it must have been something important. "It was not I who was drowning in the dream last night, but a man. A man somehow made heavy and in rough seas." She looked him in the eye, the lights flickering.

"Insufferable witch." Emrys mumbled under his breath as he turned to go.

"I napped today." She whispered, her eyebrow arching eloquently upward. "I dreamed a new dream, of washing upon the shore in a strange land and dispensing of my load before walking on for eternity." It came out wistfully. "Everything spun, coming in and out of focus. Wounded and exhausted I walked. Before a pair of storm blue eyes flashed across my vision and I prayed the gods to take me."

Emrys stopped, looking back over his shoulder. "What are you saying? Your powers are of the future."

She smiled wickedly, "But these dreams are different. I think… They are dreams of dreams. Think on that, Steward." With that she went back to her book. Emrys grew angry, stomping through the barrier and lifting Morgana by the hem of her dress.

"You forget, Morgana. You still betrayed Camelot. You were the reason I lost everything. You shall suffer with me." Morgana's eyes flashed with hurt as he released her.

"She was using me you know." Morgana whispered. "Her purposes were darker than even I could know. Soon, your revenge shall come back to haunt you." She pointed to her desk where a sketch sat. "After the dream, things grew dark… And I saw him." He picked up the sketch; it was of a young man with a hood shadowing most of his features. Emrys knew him. "You know what grows in the dark woods beyond the walls. You know Mordrid fancies himself the true king."

Emrys set the drawing back down. "He knows of Arron then?"

"Arron?"

"If Mordrid thinks the true heir has returned… then he is in danger."

"He is-?"

"A man without a past. Whether he is Arthur… I have yet to determine. I must be sure this time. Mordrid came very close to finding the sword last time with his false prince."

"Indeed. He has become powerful and deceptive. He will have spies. You must be careful."

Emrys looked at her a moment, "I'm touched by your concern."

"I am concerned for the people. The people of Albion have always been my charge. I fear what would happen in Mordrid were to take the crown."

"He shall not have it. The once and future king shall return, take the sword and Albion shall be united forever under the banner of Pendragon."

"You do not know that."

Merlin stood up straighter, tearing the drawing in two. "No. I am not gifted with foresight. But it is what my heart still tells me will be."

"That Tethalla has been filling your head with nonsense again. Pity." With that she returned once more to her book. Emrys left her cage, trying to outrun the fear that he felt threatening to wavier his heart.


	7. Chapter 7

Arron awoke with the sun on his face, meaning it must have been close to midday. He stretched luxuriously, unable to remember when he had ever slept so well. A knock came at the door and he got up and grabbed a shirt from the wardrobe as he called to the door. "Enter."  
>It was Emma, with a large tray of food. She curtseyed low and smiled. "Breakfast, sire."<p>

"Well thank you, Em. I appreciate it." He took the tray from her and set it down on the table. He grabbed one of the sweet rolls and gave it to her. "For getting me out of dinner with the Steward. I shall have to make it up to him somehow. He wasn't too angry was he?"  
>She smiled, taking a bight. "Not really. But he has been acting odd this morning."<p>

"How so?"

"Don't know. Grownups are always acting strange. It's hard to describe."

Arron laughed, "Yes, grownups are a rather mysterious bunch. It is probably my eerie likeness to the prince that has him worried." She shrugged, taking another big bight. "I'd slow down there if I were you. Don't want you choking on it."  
>She swallowed and sighed, "It has been a long time since I've had a sweet roll, sire." With that she walked to the door and waved, "The Steward wants to see you at midday in the healer's quarters."<p>

"Alright, thank you."

She curtseyed again and left. Arthur investigated the wardrobe to find a nice leather jacket and boots. It had been a bit nippy and he thought it would be good to wear them. They also went nicely with the red shirt he had on. It was only after Emma left that he realized he had no idea where the room she mentioned was. Healer's quarters?

Arron left his room and knocked on Gwaine's door, then Percival's. Neither was there and he sighed, heading down the hallway. He had a half an hour. Maybe he could simply stumble upon it. If not he would ask for directions. The castle was lovely and strong looking. Parapets rose high above his head and he wondered how many times someone tried to take it. How many times had that strength been tested? No one paid him much mind, but compared to most of the people he passed he looked like a vagabond. He felt the scruff on his cheek and shrugged. He would shave later. Making his way down a corridor then down some stairs, he turned a corner and stopped at a door. He stared at it a moment when suddenly he heard voices.

"If you had just told Emma to give him directions he wouldn't be running late I don't see what you hope to accomplish by getting him lost."

Arron opened the door and stopped. Gwaine, Percival and Emrys stood at a table covered in bottles and herbs. "Hello? You wished to see me." Emrys looked like he was not breathing. Gwaine grinned at Percival who shook his head.

Emrys shook his head quickly then sighed, "Yes. I figure, in order to better help your memory return, you should be exposed to as much of the prince's old life as possible, if the memories are there of course. I am going to begin with Guinevere ."

"Of course."

Emrys sighed again. "These chambers were once Gaius', the court physician. He died recently so I had to find a temporary healer until the position could be filled permanently. He was a dear friend of the- of yours."

Arron heard the sorrow hidden behind Emrys' informative term. "He was dear to you?"

"Yes." Emrys was watching him now. "You should prepare yourself. The lady isn't exactly… Expecting you."

Arron gawked, "You didn't tell her?"

Gwaine glared, "Oi, I wouldn't want to face her with that sort of thing."

Percival chuckled, "Best you are your own bearer of the news. She will go easy on you."

The door behind him opened and in walked a dark skinned lady in a burgundy dress. Her dark curls were pinned back with little garnet clips. She stopped dead at the sight of him. "You said you weren't going to do this again, Emrys." She looked him over and Arron shifted where he stood. Her gaze made him uncomfortable. "You want my opinion?"

Emrys shook his head. "No. I want your help making him look presentable, and helping jog his memory. You were close, I was hoping maybe-"

"Well, shut it then." She walked up to Arron and turned him every which way she could. The lady was fierce that was for sure. "I will give you my opinion despite you not wanting it. His eyes…" She stared into his eyes for a long moment and looked back at the three standing behind him. "They are wrong."

"I know that, Gwen." He sounded irritated, like she was stating some fact he clearly already knew.

"Then I don't know why you called me down here."

"Will you please stop it! For once, just be reasonable." The lady and the steward stared each other down.

Arron gulped, wishing he could just run while he had the chance. A knock at the door caught everyone's attention. "Emrys? Gwen? Emma asked me too-" The newcomer stopped catching sight of gathering. "Oh lord and lady is that-?"

"He goes by Arron. I have little evidence of otherwise." Emrys chimed in. Gwen's demeanor softened immensely, and she smiled. "Arron, this is Lancelot, my champion."

Arron approached him an extended his hand. "A pleasure."

Lancelot laughed, "I wouldn't say that if I were you… I did steal your girl, mate. I have no intention of giving her back."

Arron shook his head. "If I've been pronounced dead for five years I don't think I would want her to grieve so long. I would want her to be happy." Arron met the lady's eyes and she stared. "I don't think I would want any of you so stuck in the past." He added after Percival gave him a skeptical look. Emrys looked rather taken aback but Arron smiled at him.

Gwen set her face into a stern frown. "I am not babysitting him." She gave Emrys a look that Arron couldn't decipher.

Emrys rolled his eyes. "Fine. Guess it's up to me. But I still need him looking presentable."

Arron scrunched his nose. "What's wrong with how I look?"

"You look more like a ruffian than a prince."

"I do not! Don't be an idiot." His voice hit a strange note it only hit when he was being defensive and the words came out before he could stop himself. He was surprised by his own remark. They all stared at him and he tried to play it cool. "Sorry, that was a bit harsh, I mean- oh dear."

"No!" Emrys interrupted quickly coming around the table and steadying Arron's shoulders. "No, it was just fine." Arron couldn't have been more confused or embarrassed. For the first time since he arrived, something bright and warm crossed the Steward's face. His eyes twinkled in amusement. It suited him to be grinning from ear to ear. Arron must have done something right.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I am so sorry this took me so long. Life and writer's block have gotten in the way once again. But I hope to update sooner rather then later this time. Now, without further delay: the next chapter.**

Arron emerged from the small room attached to the healer's main chamber feeling lighter. He ran a hand over his smooth chin and shook his head. Gwen swept up blonde locks into a pile behind him, her face having gone completely blank. The four men had been sitting at a table in the main chamber and he cleared his throat. Their faces paled as if they saw a specter. "Is it that bad?"

Emrys shook his head, a light pink crossed his cheeks and he looked at the floor. "No. It looks… It looks good. Suits you. Very handsome."

Arron grinned. "You think so? I like it a lot actually. The shorter hair and clean shave really make me feel more like a prince."

Gwaine was watching Emrys' face as he came around the table to look at him. "It is a remarkable transformation," Gwaine acknowledged wistfully.

Emrys nodded. "Alright, now that you look the part we've got to teach you to act it. Putting you back in the environment you were accustom to should bring the underlying memories to the surface."

Arron was skeptical but he didn't have a better idea. "Where do we begin?"

An almost evil grin crossed Emrys' face as he laughed. "Follow me."

Arron looked to the others but everyone's focus seemed to lie elsewhere. Lancelot went into the side chamber and shut the door. Percival was watching Gwaine watch Emrys as he left the healer's quarters. Arron sighed and followed.

The sun was high over the courtyard as Emrys suited up. Arron wasn't sure about the test of skill but Emrys insisted. Sword fighting had come naturally to Arron in the early days. His mind didn't have to remember. His body moved of its own accord, his movements fluid and precise. Emrys looked pleased as he stepped forward. His armor was just light chainmail and gloves. It was the sword in the Steward's hand that was beautiful. Its silver hilt had a large blue crystal at the end that flared in the sunlight.

Arron looked at his ordinary steel one and frowned.

Emrys laughed and twirled the blade. "I promise my sword gives me no advantage. Especially since the prince was trained to kill since birth."

Gwaine and Percival sat off to the side to watch from a distance. Arron readied himself, becoming serious. Emrys rolled his shoulders and grinned.

Arron's lips twitched. "Ready?"

Emrys readied his stance. "Always."

Arron waited a moment to see if Emrys would make the first move. When he made no move to attack, Arron took that as permission.

Left, right, forward, back. It was a familiar dance. He didn't have to think, he just did. It was a complete shock when Emrys hit him with the flat side of the sword. Arron stopped completely. No one had ever gotten a hit on him that quickly.

Emrys chuckled. "You can do better than that. You're just going through the motions. Actually think about your movements this time."

Arron glared. Who was this man to tell him how to fight? He began to walk to the left, sword pointed up and out. He circled and thought, watched the Steward move along. His lean build was graceful but he wasn't a master swordsman. His style had been simple, and effective. It was obvious that he was use to using magic in fights. He was holding back that power but without it, Emrys' moves were stoic and if Arron thought about it predictable. Arron would do better to pay attention to his own movements. Where he had not been thinking enough, Emrys was thinking far too much and this time Arron would not be the one to lose.

Emrys was the first to attack this time. He lunged and Arron evaded, circling around again. Left, right, center, left, left, back, turn and back. Emrys went to attack again and this time Arron ducked out of the way and hooked the other man's foot, causing him to tumble to the ground.

Emrys stared up at him, the point of Arron's blade hovering over the leaner man's chest. Though he had lost, the Steward seemed elated as he laughed uncontrollably. "That was brilliant." His breath came in short bursts, obviously winded.

Arron didn't understand what was so funny, but offered him a hand. The Steward clasped it and something jolted through him. Warm blue skies in an open grassy field Emrys lie below him, huffing and out of breath. A spark of something hidden in the murky depths flew to the surface, and he was saying, "How's your mace work coming along?"

Emrys let go of his hand immediately. "What did you say?"

Arron's eyebrows went up. "…What?

"Just now- you said-" Emrys looked to Gwaine and Percival who didn't seem to understand what was wrong.

Arron just shrugged. A blush started to creep up his neck and he looked away. "Is that enough sparring then?"

Emrys just sat on the ground, his face shocked.

"Alright then." He began to walk out of the court yard. That had not been him. He had not said that before. What was going on? He turned a corner and realized he had found his way to the prince's room without even trying. "Of course."

"Hello, sire." Emma popped up from behind him. He didn't even flinch. "You seem distressed."

"How can you tell?"

She looked him over and nodded. "Your shoulders."

Arron rolled his eyes.

"Is it the prince? Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Arron nodded. "I think I may be the prince after all."

"I heard what the lady said about your eyes. She said they were wrong. I think that isn't completely true. They are the right eyes but they do not have the same look about them."

"What does that mean?"

"The prince had these sharp eyes; they only softened when no one was looking, like he was afraid someone would see. Yours are open and filled with light." Her eyes gained this far off look and her smile faded a bit. "You don't know his pain. But you will."

Emma walked slowly down the hallway and disappeared. "Well that was odd." He yanked open his door and pulled off the chainmail he'd been given. There was a stack of books sitting on the desk. Curious, Arron grabbed one and skimmed the first page. It appeared to be about the founding of Camelot.

Arron settled in. He hadn't known he could read. It really shouldn't have been that big of a surprise. He read of the life of Uther, how he had conquered the land as a younger man, married the lady Ygraine. She died giving birth to Arthur. It said Uther began his war on magic shortly after, with his son trained in the art of war. It was a sad history. The book he had only went up to his twelfth birthday. By the time he had finished, Emma had returned and the sun was much lower in the sky. She stood in the doorway, cautiously, like he had seen some beast tamers approach a mighty cat.

"Sire, the Steward was wondering if you would be joining him for dinner this evening. What shall I tell him, my Lord?"

Arron thought on it. He had already missed a dinner with Emrys, it would be rude to decline the hospitality he extending. Then again, he was supposed to be the prince. It meant that all of this was truly his; he could do as he pleased. "I shall eat with him."

"Dinner will be ready within the candle mark in the main banquet hall." She curtseyed a bit and left the room.

Arron sighed and rubbed his eyes before going to change his shirt. Why he changed his shirt he wasn't sure- when he traveled he wore the same clothes all day every day with, there had been no other clothes to change into. He switched to a deep blue shirt. Checking himself in the mirror he was barely recognizable with the new hair, new clothes, and no beard.

He wondered if he was handsome. It was a vain thought, looks weren't important but it had never come up before. Surely the Steward seemed to believe it, or at least he had said so. That made him smile and straighten his shirt absentmindedly. It was time to see if he could wander himself to the banquet hall. He left the bedchamber and made his way down his corridor, trusting in his feet to take him where he needed to be.


End file.
